


Feeding the hunger of the sun

by fosfomifira



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fisting, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sub Steve Rogers, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fosfomifira/pseuds/fosfomifira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the ways they've found each other again, this isn’t the most interesting one, but it’s certainly the most difficult to explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding the hunger of the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuxObscura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to [riverlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/pseuds/riverlight) and [zelda zee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee) for their support, help, encouragement, all around hand-holding and spectacular beta work. All remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

It's warm, so very warm in this new world in which they find themselves. There are explanations, science that describes why not even the weather is the way they remember it. But memories are not as important as what you make of them. 

It was never quite like this between them, all those years ago. There had been bruises on the back of their necks during cold winters, lovingly cradled by scarves. There had been bite marks on the inside of milk-white thighs, hidden by layers of fabric, almost invisible under soft body hair. But this was different. This was something new. 

If there was a name for it, they never bothered to learn it. They had their fun in the not-so-hidden corners the city pretended didn't exist, but some secrets they kept to themselves. As much as they shared with others some things, some precious things, never had others to witness. 

*

Steve remembers his right hand, washed clean after a day of work and a day of school, nails carefully trimmed, not a hint of paint or dirt hiding under them. He remembers windows wide open, curtains drawn, lights out. He remembers street lights blinking through, enough for him to see what he was about to do, enough for him to ignore the fluttering butterflies in his stomach as he knelt between Bucky's spread thighs, legs so wide apart there was nowhere to look but his hole, waiting. 

Steve remembers the glint in Bucky's eyes, wicked and eager, playful, as his body opened himself to Steve's fingers. He remembers the promise barely concealed in Bucky's eyes. _You'll get yours next._

* 

There's too much sharpness these days, lines and straight angles, a geometry that allows no pity, no room for curves; the flowing motion of waves, the pulsing beat of his heart. Surfaces are made smooth straight from the fabric, problems solved before they are allowed to exist. 

Steve is getting twitchy and he knows it. There's a certain kind of restlessness that comes not from being a man out of time, not from any of the myriad reasons why his mental health would be a matter of national concern, if anyone knew. This, _this_ , comes from being himself, has always been a part of him, a hunger for what could never be defined to his satisfaction, a problem that had no clean way to be solved. 

Bucky knows it. 

*

Sometimes it's rougher, sometimes it's softer. Of all the ways they've found each other again, this isn’t the most interesting one, but it’s certainly the most difficult to explain.

There are restrains, hidden away in a box, unused. There are ways to play with them they’ve yet to discover, but not tonight. So many memories aren’t even in the past, not when they’re barely concealed under the thinnest layer of skin, the weakest of metal alloys.

It's their bed, pillows and covers and towels. It's Steve, as naked as the day he was born, but no innocence to be found. He’s always been hungry for more, and Bucky has always stumbled, found, learned, and created ways to give Steve what Steve needed, no questions asked, before they even touched each other, before they knew what to do with their bodies in bed.

It's the need for more and more, limits that are his own to break, a body that won't back down from any challenge offered. 

It's Steve’s own legs spread so wide, his heels touching his ass, the terrifyingly sweet sense of helplessness that comes from being so exposed. 

It's the glint of Bucky's arm, smooth metal shining bright, Bucky's eyes barely open, his breath as slow and steady as ever. It's his pouty mouth and the twist in those plump lips that makes him look cruel, just as he did all that time ago when he whispered You'll get yours next. 

The curtains are not drawn this time. They are open wide, light coming through from the city that surrounds them. 

Steve waits, because that’s what he’s been told to do. Anticipation isn’t sweet this time, not like it used to. Part of him believes neither one of them is ready for what they’re about to do, but something deep inside insists it’s just their bodies meeting once again, testing limits that were hardly there when they last touched. 

It might have been selfish, to have gone down on his knees, closed his eyes, and whispered his secrets to Bucky’s thighs, to ask for this and so much more, breathing in the heat of Bucky’s body and growing bolder with every moment that Bucky didn’t push him away, didn’t force him back onto his feet.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head, eyes stubbornly closed. He couldn’t lie to Bucky as well as he could lie to himself. Oh, they’d been fucking since the moment Bucky came back, but it had been awkward in very subtle ways, their bodies clumsy with one another.

One of Bucky’s fingers went under his chin, the metal cold as it hooked under sharp bone and stubbly skin. He forced Steve’s face up and Steve wouldn’t dare to resist, his muscles honey-slow as he opened his eyes.

“There you are,” Bucky said. His hair was short now, his eyes half-closed, the same expression on his face that the had when looking over a map, reading a book, a puzzle before him with the answer just out of reach. 

“Answer me, Steve. Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

Steve blinked, words rushing through his blood, pounding through his heart as he opened his mouth. His lips were dry, almost cracked before he licked them. Bucky waited. 

Steve shook his head. “Tell me what to do.” 

Steve wanted to say ‘Don’t hold back’, but there’s such a thing as going too far, pushing too hard. They have all the time in the world ahead of them, after all. “Don’t let me think too hard. Don’t let me think at all.”

Bucky didn't smile, not quite. “Clean yourself up, inside out,” he ordered. 

All the air in Steve’s lungs seemed to leave him at once. It was going to happen, at long last.

“And whenever you’re ready, come back to me. Find me, wherever I am. Kneel down and do what I tell you to do until you've had enough.”

 

*

Since then they hardly seem able to be apart. Their hands touch whenever they walk side by side, kisses stolen whenever their bodies are close enough. There’s a certain soreness between Steve’s legs, bruises fading and blooming again on the back of his neck, his hips. 

When the day comes Steve takes his time getting ready. The choice is his and his alone, but from the moment he steps into their room nothing will be quite the same. Bucky is there, reading on the small sofa he had placed on the darkest corner. Steve walks to him, head up, his posture as proud as if he was in uniform, striding into battle.

It all melts away the moment he reaches Bucky. Steve’s body goes soft, his muscles slowly easing him onto his knees so he can place his head on Bucky’s lap. His hands meet at the small of his back.

This time there’s no softness whatsoever to be found in Bucky’s gestures. He grips Steve’s hair tight with his right hand, pulling hard from the very roots until Steve’s looking up at him. He pulls him to his feet as if Steve wasn't a miracle of science made muscle and bone. He feels light as a feather deep inside, his mind and ever-questioning heart quieting at long last. 

Bucky's voice is rough and low, little more than a whisper, not a hint of hesitation to be found in his words. "You'll do as I say until you tell me to stop. We clear on that, Steve?"

There's just enough give in Bucky's grip for Steve to move his head, to nod or shake in refusal. He opens his eyes as wide as he can, makes it as clear as possible how badly he wants this, whatever Bucky wants of him.

What Bucky wants is for Steve to stand in the middle of their room and not move an inch. “If you move, Steve, it’s all over. And you don’t want it to be over before I give you what you need, do you?”

The impulse to shake his head is strong, but the need to have what Bucky is offering is stronger. Steve won’t even allow himself to blink; he keeps his breathing as shallow as possible.

“You really want it,” Bucky says, that wicked expression back on his lips, the ones that knew Steve’s body so well, no secrets held back.

“Good.” 

Bucky takes his time undressing Steve, each button carefully undone, the zipper on his trousers opening one tooth at the time. A bright red blush spreads down Steve’s neck down his chest, up his face. Sweat breaks out on his upper lip, but he’s not allowed to move. He wants to lean into that carefully contained touch and learn what’s hiding underneath.

Bucky stands behind him, close enough that Steve feels the scrape of Bucky’s clothes against his bare skin. 

“Wait here,” Bucky says, his hands now covering Steve’s eyes, a flesh and metal blindfold. “And keep your eyes closed until I’m back.” 

Steve's sense of balance almost disappears the moment he closes his eyes. There are no reference points for him to fall back on, nothing touching his body but the floorboards under his feet. There's nothing for him to do but wait and let himself go and trust his senses to keep him upright. He's hard, absurdly so. He doesn't even want to know what he looks like. 

There's no warning before Bucky shoves him back onto the bed right behind him. “Don’t you dare move,” Bucky says. The fall is messy, gravity doing all the work while Steve fights every instinct that he has to move and cushion the fall. It’s clumsy and undignified, but he manages to follow Bucky’s instructions. There’s no room for him to think, just as he requested.

“Open your eyes, Steve,” Bucky says. Steve obeys, blinking away the momentary discomfort to find Bucky standing at the side of the bed, carefully observing him. Steve’s erection barely flagged, his arms are still trapped under his body. Given the air of satisfaction on Bucky’s face, it’s exactly what he was looking for. 

There are towels and pillows, a big bottle of lube and a small box piled up on the bed, just beyond Steve’s reach. 

Bucky’s hands are rough as he pulls Steve’s arms from under his body, Steve’s own weight pressing them down. He’s still not allowed to move, to make things easier for himself. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. He’s more than strong enough to move Steve around as he pleases, so reminiscent of how he used Steve’s body, all those years ago. It should hurt more than it does, the tight grip on his muscles, but it simply feels right instead.

Bucky moves slowly, deliberately, as he straddles Steve's body, his weight heavy on Steve's chest and stomach. He's getting hard, that much Steve can see and feel. His arms are trapped under Bucky's legs. It's uncomfortable, the sort of thing he'd complain about if they were having sex as they normally do, but like this it's the best kind of restraint, a reminder to stay still and let himself go.

"Close your eyes," Bucky instructs and then he's up on his knees, his weight off Steve’s chest as he shuffles forward until his crotch is at Steve's face. Buttons barely make a noise as they're being undone, rustle of fabric, then the sound of flesh on flesh. Steve wants to open his mouth so badly, but he won't, not yet, not even when Bucky rubs his cock over Steve's mouth, the wet head teasing at his closed lips. Instead, Steve can only imagine what this looks like from the outside, suppressing a shiver at the idea of being watched. 

"Just like that, Steve, just like that.Open your eyes now," and Steve moans deep down his throat, helpless. That gorgeous cock, thick and hard, heavy and so hot, barely resting on his lips.

“You’ve always wanted it this bad, to just take what’s given to you,” Bucky says, all the while stroking himself, his hand slow and steady. He’s got all the time in the world, but patience has always been a funny thing when it comes to Bucky Barnes. He could make himself wait longer than anyone would think possible just by looking at him. It used to drive his parents insane, the way he could make himself sit still if the reward was good enough, and then suddenly become a tornado of boyish energy the second he decided he’d had enough. In the bedroom, Steve eventually learned, he was much the same. 

“Open up,” he says, and there’s barely enough time for Steve to open his mouth before Bucky is fucking his face, the pace relentless from the start. He used to like to tease Steve, to make him beg for his cock, but not tonight. He simply thrusts deep, his hips angled just so. The rhythm is fast enough to force Steve to pay attention to his breathing, but not quite enough for him to choke. It feels good, the way Steve can feel himself sinking deeper into his body, the way Bucky’s fingers caress his face, hold onto his throat.

Bucky pulls out the moment Steve moves, his tongue playing with Bucky’s cock.

“Uh-uh. Think I told you not to move, sugar,” he says, smirking. “I know you can’t help yourself, but if you do that again, well, then we’re just going to have to stop our fun for the night.

“And you don’t want that, do you?”

Steve freezes, holding his breath.

“Thought so,” Bucky says, a smile as bright as the sun lighting his face.

*

It’s as if something breaks loose inside Bucky, something that’s been tied into a blind knot for years. There’s a hunger to his touch that was never there before, his need coming from a wild place that didn’t exist years ago. He doesn’t hold back, retracing Steve’s body, marking his skin where his old scars used to be with fingernails and teeth, leaving behind scrapes and welts, bruises remapping Steve’s body. He rubs himself on Steve, his clothes rough on Steve's bare skin. There’s nothing elegant to the way he moves, not a hint of the smoothness that gave Bucky Barnes his reputation as someone worth taking into your bed, but need has never been polite. Need is always selfish, and if buttons and buckles and the weight of Bucky’s weapons hurt Steve, he’s not about to make it stop. He’s sinking deeper and deeper, nothing but the lifeline of Bucky’s touch keeping him connected to the surface.

"You can touch until I tell you not to," Bucky says, his teeth sharp on Steve’s left earlobe. Deep, biting kisses go deeper, bite harder. Hands grab to the point of pain because holding back is not an option. Steve just clings, his legs tight around Bucky’s waist, his hands fearless as they slide up and down Bucky’s shoulders, his back, his hair. Bucky’s cock is as hard as Steve’s, almost as wet with precome. 

Bucky uses every inch of his body, every ounce of his weight. It feels like this is it for the night, rutting against each other like mute beasts, more than enough to sate Steve’s desires, but then Bucky pulls back, slowly this time. There’s a cold smile on his face and Steve can't help a shiver of fear, excitement racing up and down his spine. He is left boneless by that hungry, predatory smile. Bucky never lost control, not even for a second.

"No more foolin’ around, Steve. Not unless you want to skip the good stuff," Bucky says, moving his left hand so that it glints in the light. 

“Keep still, darling and let me get you ready,” Bucky says. “There’s some things we gotta sort out first.” He grabs one of the bigger pillows and places it, along with a thick towel, right under Steve’s hips, then adds another pillow for good measure.

“There you go, Steve. Keep those legs of yours spread wide and we’ll have our fun. Just let me get a good look at you.” Bucky’s voice is a low rumble as he pushes Steve’s thighs wide apart, as if any resistance he could find is not worth of the name, then settles down in the space between Steve’s legs, letting his fingers play on Steve’s chest - a quick twist to his nipples, his ribs, his balls, the inside of his thighs, all the sensitive places that drive him wild. 

Steve can’t help but notice how carefully trimmed Bucky’s fingernails are. No matter how hard he digs, he doesn’t break the skin. Even the callouses from years of handling weapons feel smoother than usual. The left hand is just as soft. There are no jagged edges on the metal plates that could catch on delicate body parts.

There's something wistful to Bucky's voice this time, a bittersweet twist to his mouth. 

"At first there were no pain sensors in it," he says out of the blue, waving his left fingers for good measure, to make his point clearer, "just movement and pressure ones. Enough for me to know what I was doing, but that was it. Thing is, you get careless if you can't feel pain. I'd just punch and punch and try to break through walls with it and it'd take them forever to fix the arm again. Too many delicate parts, you see.

“So they gave me pain sensors. Then I could tell when it hurt - something that felt like pain, anyway. Then they trained me to ignore it. Nothing would stop me if they hit me on my left arm, not even if they tried to rip it out of its socket, but I wouldn't break their precious weapon if a mission got touchy. 

“It made me better at my job. An even better sniper, if you can believe it. Better with my knives, too," Bucky adds, bitterness obvious in his voice. 

Even if he was allowed to, Steve wouldn't dare move or speak. This is the most Bucky has said about his arm since he came back. When questioned by doctors and engineers he simply said yes or no to their assumptions and nothing more. 

"I bet they didn't have this in mind," Bucky says, cold fingertips rubbing circles around and around Steve's hole. Slow and steady, never quite pushing inside, no matter how badly Steve wants it, no matter how his hole pulses open and closed as the air leaves his lungs, choking with desire.

"Nah, they never dreamed of this at all," Bucky says, pulling his hand away before he leans down to kiss Steve's hole, a quick sucking kiss, a touch of his playful tongue that breaks a moan from both their chests. 

"Still tastes as good as I remember it, sugar."

Bucky steps off the bed, standing proud as he undresses, his movements economical and swift. First goes his t-shirt, then the knives strapped around his thighs. Next, he takes off his boots before pushing down his trousers along with his underwear, leaving himself bare before Steve. He holds the biggest and sharpest of his knives in his right hand, his movements slow and deliberate, telegraphed for Steve's peace of mind. A line up Steve’s chest is lightly traced with the cold blade. Steve shivers, a new desire blooming in him that Bucky notices. The knife is then carefully placed on the night table, an offer of more and a safety valve, all within Steve's reach. 

Getting Steve ready is a long process, drawn out even longer by Bucky's seemingly endless reserves of patience. He's in no hurry whatsoever, seemingly content to simply stare and keep his distance, only to lean down with his mouth open to kiss and bite every inch of skin on his chest and neck before sliding yet another finger deep inside, pushing in more and more lube, slowly stretching Steve wide open. 

Memories of being fingered for the first time burst in Steve's mind, the vivid feeling of opening up where there seemed to be no room for more, of feeling so full and yet still to hunger for more. He's panting, his breath short and his body covered in sweat. 

Steve’s mouth goes dry the moment Bucky puts a surgical glove on his left hand, making a big show out of it, then caressing Steve’s face: his eyelids and lips and tongue. The material is thin enough to make every groove on that hand clearly visible. The cold temperature bleeds through, but it feels smooth on Steve’s skin, safe to hold in his body. He never said as much, but this is what he truly wanted when he first went down on his knees before Bucky. He didn’t dare hope, but now it’s going to happen. 

"Show me where you want me, Steve. Show me where you need me the most."

Bucky always got such a thrill out of making Steve expose himself. Loved nothing more than to give him a suckjob in a dark alley, a quick handjob anywhere he thought he could get away with it. That much hasn’t changed. He makes a spectacle out of lubing up his left hand, each finger lovingly covered in the thick fluid. There’s so much of it that Bucky's fingers, one metal, one flesh, simply slide in, opening him up. He's relentless.

"Tell me what you see, Steve."

Steve is on his back, pillows under his hips, all but folded in half. Bucky pushes his balls down, flattens them so that there's nothing to obstruct the sight. 

"My asshole, your fingers inside me. All of your fingers inside me, stretching me open."

"And filling you up. So hungry, so greedy, you and your little hole, Steve, always pushing for more. Making things right, the way they should be."

"But this is the way it should be all the time, ain't it?" Bucky says, his left hand pushing deeper inside, the widest part of the palm of his hand still outside. "If you weren't so damned busy trying to make the world a better place."

Bucky's hand is unnaturally hard, no yielding to it whatsoever. He looks Steve's right in the eyes, then back at his own hand as he slowly pushes deeper inside, a steady pace that doesn't give Steve a break. He's being observed, all of him under Bucky's knowing gaze. 

"But you wouldn't be who you are if you didn't do that, not the Steve Rogers I know."

Two fingers become three, a fourth slides in, Bucky’s thumb almost tickling as it massages the spot behind Steve’s balls, gathering up a few drops of the lube that’s dripping out of Steve’s hole before slowly, inexorably, making its way into Steve’s body. 

Once Bucky's hand slides all the way in he keeps it there, absolutely immobile. Steve can feel himself pulsing against Bucky's wrist, his body desperately trying to adjust. It's so much more than he hoped for.

"I can feel your heartbeat, Christ. Oh fuck, Steve, I can feel your fuckin' heartbeat with my hand," Bucky says, licking his lips.

"You look so damned pretty like this, darling, prettier than anybody else in this city. Never seen anyone like you, Steve. Don't think anyone out there could want this more than you do," he says, his fingers delicately moving deep inside Steve's body, a gentle dance to remind him there's more yet to come. 

Bucky's hand slowly spreads and closes in before drawing his fingers down, carefully making a fist. It feels bigger than it should, that metal hand. Each time Steve thinks he's done adjusting Bucky is there to surprise him and force yet another wave of sensation out of his overstimulated body. The fist is now moving deep inside, his asshole straining against Bucky's wrist, the rhythm slowly building up as Steve's skin feels too small, his heart too big for his chest. Each new thrust of that fist threatens to bring an orgasm along. 

"Don't you dare come before I tell you to, sugar," Bucky warns. "You just let me know and I'll take care of you, but only when I feel like it, you understand?"

There’s no holding back, no place to hide. Steve’s body is so open he can’t help but rock on Bucky’s hand, down his wrist, fucking himself back each time Bucky stops moving. Each time he does Bucky pulls his hand out, punishment and unbearably overwhelming stimulation at once. Coming feels unavoidable, but Bucky reads his body only too well, denying him of precious stimulation while gripping hard the base of his cock, yet another orgasm denied.

Bucky fucks him with one hand after the other, left hand in until it warms up, carefully pulled out to be replaced by this right hand, now slick past his wrist, burning blood-hot inside Steve's body, only to be replaced again by his left hand. The change in temperature alone is enough to drive him insane with sensation. He can feel Bucky’s hands carefully opening deep inside, like butterflies fluttering in the wind, like flowers blooming. 

"Watch your hole suck me in, Steve."

It's obscene, the way he's stretched so wide open, the rim of his asshole so swollen and red, so much precome leaking out of his dick. He's ready to burst with sensation, but he wants more, bigger and deeper and harder. It's so greedy of him, and yet Bucky is always there to give him what he wants, making the desperate emptiness feel right. It’s pleasure so intense each new wave threatens to stop his heart.

“Let yourself go,” Bucky orders, but Steve’s body is slow to obey, exhausted by the experience. It takes just a few more thrusts with that hard fist to fall over the edge. Steve’s hand is light on his own cock, barely able to move as his orgasm is all but milked out of him, leaving him mindless. He's never been this loud, nothing but animal noises coming out of his mouth until there's no room for anything else, and he spasms one last time in complete silence, his eyes wide open.

Bucky pulls his hand out so very slowly, so gently that it's almost impossible to feel, but Steve is sensitive everywhere, his nerves raw and reborn. Each millimeter takes minutes, it seems, Bucky's hand made small once again rather than the fist that opened him wide. It feels almost as good, almost as overwhelming as it did going in.

Bucky jerks himself off, almost desperate. It doesn't take him long to come, making an even bigger mess of Steve's stomach, the last drops of come hitting Steve's hole, gently rubbed inside him by the head of Bucky's cock, one last invasion for the night. 

Coming down is a slow process, full of little discomforts, small twinges of pain that try to stab at the overwhelming sense of peace floating through Steve’s mind. Deep inside there’s nothing but pleasure, nothing but satisfaction. Everything else - the drying lube, the soreness everywhere - happens outside, but to a body that feels his own once again.

Bucky used to be almost careless when cleaning him up, so confident of what Steve could take, but not now. He used to save the last dirty kisses for when they were both in bed, all but falling asleep. He used to save the sweetest kisses to shut Steve up as he tried to explain how good it was to have someone, how sweet it was to feel strong by taking so much, but not now. 

Now Bucky is finding new ways to be careful and take care of Steve at the same time. His gestures are without hesitation, his hands as steady with the warm washcloth between Steve's thighs as they were inside him, but some of his confidence seems to have left him. 

"I used to be better at this, didn't I?" He doesn’t quite say 'I used to be better at tenderness', but it's clear all the same. 

"It's good, Buck. So good." Steve voice is soft, rough, and he means every word. He's been loud, louder than he allows himself to be. Now he's just floating inside his own body, blood running warm and alive inside him, so content, beyond words and thoughts for a few precious moments. He doesn't want to move. Sitting up is decidedly unappealing, so he makes do for second best, opening his arms wide, making the invitation as clear as he did when he was ass up, head down. 

"C'mon, Buck," he says. "Come here." And Bucky follows, careful, hiding a fragility that was buried deeper when they were young, before war happened to them. The hug that follows is like hugging the sun - burning up little by little the more their bodies touch. There's always been something desperate to the way they love each other. 

The aftermath of sex is pushed out of sight, towels and pillows fallen to the floor. All that's left is themselves, whoever they choose to be. There's nowhere else they'd rather be, and no other time they’d rather be alive.

**Author's Note:**

> [LuxObscura](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura): I hope you'll like this, even if it's not quite what you requested.


End file.
